A good way to end a London dinner party at which guests are outstaying their welcome is to offer an explanation of why the Northern Ireland Assembly remains suspended.
Not even a platter of Ferrero Rocher will prevent a sudden outbreak of yawn-stifling and watch-checking. Before you can even say "parity of esteem" there is an orderly queue to phone for taxis.
Despite the popularity of all things Irish and the unprecedented level of goodwill in Anglo-Irish relations, Northern Ireland remains largely taboo in contemporary British society.
The British have long been reluctant to discuss the subject - though perhaps it would be more accurate to say the English, as the Scots and Welsh have always shown an interest given their own devolutionary aspirations. Even after atrocities in Britain, such as the Harrods or Brighton bombings, many Irish people could attest to the odd reluctance of the English to query us about acts purportedly committed in our name. Nor, with some regrettable exceptions, do they "blame" us.
The English appear to regard the Troubles as a peripheral irritant of irrational complexity to be endured with the spirit of the Blitz and an upper lip stiffened by centuries of dealing with vexatious colonies.
There were brief periods of enlightenment both when the Belfast Agreement was signed and when the Assembly first met. A room could be silenced by a clarification of the differences between the DUP and Sinn Féin or a potted history of relations between these islands in the 20th century. These produced responses of the "Gosh, we had no idea" variety.
This level of interest couldn't last, of course. The stop-start nature of the peace process and the inexplicable stalling of devolved government have long ago relegated Northern Ireland from the table of socially acceptable safe topics.
TV executives will confirm that a news bulletin leading with a Northern Ireland story sends viewers scuttling for the remote control. And so the topic rarely gets the coverage it deserves.
One notable exception is BBC 2's Newsnight programme whose indefatigable team regularly endeavour to interpret the mystery. But even the tenacious Jeremy Paxman is often reduced to eye-rolling frustration by a succession of grim spokesmen who always seem to say "No".
Newspapers, including the broadsheets, have visibly reduced their coverage. A recent feature in the Daily Telegraph contained this sentence: "The police hold little sway in the ghettos and punishment by thugs remains a powerful lever of control". The English can just about bear this type of news from Basra or Baghdad these days; they didn't expect to be reading such reports from Belfast halfway through a second Blair government.
Their frustration and ennui is partly explained by unrealistic expectations of a quick solution. As they see it, their Government has devoted an inordinate amount of time to Northern Ireland since the mid-1990s. While we may think "and about time too", it is important to remember that for millions of English people, the election of New Labour in 1997 after two decades of Tory rule was supposed to mean "things can only get better".
To the dismay of many, the new government seemed to have little time for "domestic" issues as Blair and his inner circle became absorbed by the "hand of history" beckoning across the Irish Sea. This was tolerated on the grounds that the Troubles would be sorted out once and for all.
"My mission is to pacify Ireland" could be a remark by the current prime minister. In fact, it is attributed to William Gladstone, as he formed his first cabinet in December, 1868. Nineteen years later he wrote in his diary: "One prayer absorbs all others: Ireland, Ireland, Ireland".
By 1914, with a worn-out Gladstone no doubt turning in his grave, Ireland had still not been "pacified", though a confident prime minister, David Lloyd George, felt confident enough to tell King George V that "the Irish situation has been settled". Mr Blair must read these diaries with a sigh.
Today he is bogged down by Iraq and British public interest in Northern Ireland has largely evaporated. The last Anglo-Irish talks at Lancaster House scarcely registered in the British media. One of the main television news programmes that evening only alluded to the event by using footage of the Taoiseach disagreeing with a Euro 2004 referee's decision to disallow a crucial England goal. This produced gales of relieved laughter. Of the talks themselves - not a word.
More "in-depth" coverage was provided by the BBC Ceefax service. A brief report, written by a clearly baffled correspondent, ended as follows: "It is understood the talks were aimed at agreeing a way to resolve problem issues rather than resolving them". Try explaining that to the locals at The Queen Vic.
Leeds Castle has now joined such places as Sunningdale and Weston Park in the gazetteer of British-Irish peace talks. This stunning venue, confusingly located hundreds of miles from Yorkshire in the south-eastern county of Kent, may even one day feature in the history books of schools on both islands - if only as a footnote.